


Establishing a Union

by Neyiea



Series: misfit(toy)s [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Episode: s04e02 The Fear Reaper, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: Another day, another situation that Jerome can use to his advantage.





	Establishing a Union

He’d heard about the Crane kid in passing prior to this. With a network like his in place he’d also learnt about his sudden ‘disappearance’ after a former orderly had come to speak with Warden Reed mere hours after the fact. He hadn’t cared much at the time, or at all, really. Another poor soul lost to the corruption of Arkham; so what? Mostly he’d been amused that this was exactly the kind of situation that Bruce would have loved to get intel on. 

He almost contemplated dropping a few hints if he happened to turn up again just to see what he would do with the information. What would Bruce Wayne, self-made defender and mender of broken things, do to Warden Reed if he knew just how far his immorality went? Especially considering that Crane, barely older than Bruce himself with his own tragic back-story to boot, was someone who Bruce might immediately feel genuine empathy towards.

If killing his butler was almost enough for him to slit Jerome’s throat, what would selling a sick, orphaned teenager to a group full of bad intentions be worth?

Something magnificent, no doubt. 

Bruce, Jerome had decided after their little tête-à-tête, was the sort of person whose reactions were nearly always interesting. You just had to know where to look when you reached out to squeeze that sore spot, or know which buttons to press which made him angry enough that he was forced to override his own self-control. Bruce was, whether he wanted to be or not, someone who Jerome was starting to find particularly fascinating; like a star that could one day turn into a black hole as long as it was given a little push in the destructive direction. 

And, as luck would have it, Bruce wasn’t the only interesting person who’d stepped into Arkham in the wake of the Tetch Virus.

Jervis Tetch, who’d been once again locked away in his sound-proofed cell after his blood had been used to produce the cure for the Tetch Virus, was also a person-of-interest in Jerome’s life. He’d seen enough charlatans during his early life in the circus that news about Tetch’s abilities had sounded like a particularly outrageous sham, but the fact that he was never approached by guards who weren’t wearing headphones helped to verify some of what Jerome had heard.

And, if the other rumors were true as well, Tetch and Jimbo had more than a bit of bad blood between them. 

Detective Gordon was going to bite off more than he could chew one day while on his one-man crusade. Jerome hopes he’s there to laugh in his face.

He’d been figuring out the best way to start a bit of illicit communication with the Mad Hatter upon his return. It was more difficult than he’d been anticipating, what with the guards under his influence not being high enough on the food chain to act as messengers on his behalf. He would have found a way eventually, but now?

Well, something truly spectacular was happening.

Jonathan Crane was a nobody, locked away in Arkham because no one could bother to find a way to help him. Not only that, but he had no associations with anyone inside, because what could one scared-silly teenager do that would make it worth forming any sort of partnership with him?

The Scarecrow, on the other hand, well, there was someone who Jerome could form a very beneficial work-relationship with.

He hears more than sees what’s going on in the infirmary. The sound of it carries eerily, and he gets a brief update regarding what’s going on by a guard who’s sharp enough to slip him a heavy ring of keys before abandoning ship.

Everyone who is able to is getting out while they still can.

Everyone except for Jerome, who slinks out of his cell while cheerily twirling the key-ring around a finger. He feels like a kid in a candy store, or at a new amusement park.

Arkham is his cursed playground, and he loves every new bit of chaos that springs forth from it. Loves imagining the disorder someday spilling over these walls and overrunning the streets of Gotham.

His top priority during this marvelous episode of madness should be to have a personal introduction with Tetch, but he can’t resist at the very least sizing Scarecrow up from a distance. He’s had a plan hatching in his head for a while now, little bits of an extravagant puzzle that aren’t quite connected yet. All he needs is to find a few more players for his game, partners to help fill in the gaps, and he’s certain that there are two locked in here with him. Just a few more to go and then, oh, the things they’ll be able to accomplish.

He follows the sound of screaming and crying, a delighted shiver racing up his spine at the thought of what might have caused this newfound mayhem and mutiny, and at the thought of there being more where this came from.

The Scarecrow isn’t hard to spot, his grim figure sending other inmates cowering even as whatever they’re under the influence of riles them up like they’re in the middle of a rebellion. Jerome can appreciate the dedication to his aesthetic.

A jokester, a scarecrow, and a mad hatter bust out of an asylum…

He snickers at his own train of thought, and he feels more than sees when the eyes of the Scarecrow land on him.

The infirmary is still closed off, though with the way things are beginning to build up inside it won’t be long until the insurrection within breaks out and spreads through the rest of the asylum. Jerome saunters up to the gated doorway, relaxed in the presence of the personification of fear before him.

Jerome is face to face with another teen beyond a pitiful bit of fencing. This one, though, has given in to the dark; has done what Bruce Wayne could not—or would not—do.

Fear is such a powerful motivator. Cowering Jonathan Crane has truly come into his own.

“Nice scythe,” he says in opening, “planning on using it on anyone?” 

Scarecrow’s grip on the tool tightens, but he doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s carrying out a personal vendetta.

“You sure know how to make an entrance.” Jerome steps closer. The teenager on the other side doesn’t retreat, but he doesn’t come closer, either. Keeping his distance, or maybe biding his time. “I’m Jerome, by the way.”

“I know who you are.” The voice is muffled through the mask, but the eyes stare right at Jerome with a burning intensity. There’s no fear in his gaze, but there is familiarity. 

Like recognizing like. 

“So, Scarecrow, right?” Jerome pauses just long enough for him to nod. “What fun new sport have you started playing in here? I haven’t heard this much screaming since the night I took over the city.”

Scarecrow casts a glance behind him, standing tall and proud as he looks upon what he has done.

“I’m making them see their greatest fears.”

A sharp, cruel laugh slips from between Jerome’s lips. “Sounds fun.”

It’s hard to tell with the mask on, but he thinks he’s being given an appraising look.

“You have keys,” Scarecrow states bluntly, “the GCPD will be coming soon, why haven’t you broken out while you still can?”

“Tell me, Scarecrow, buddy, have you ever felt like you were meant for something more?”

A trick question. Of course he has. Everyone thinks they have a higher purpose. 

But Scarecrow is someone who definitely has a calling outside of just causing an uproar at an asylum to lure a couple cops—or maybe one cop in particular, since a little birdy once told Jerome what circumstances brought Jonathan Crane into Arkham—into a trap.

He doesn’t answer, but Jerome is great at filling in silences.

“I’ve got a vision, you see, but I need a few more people like myself to really get everything just right. You know what I’m capable of when it’s just myself; imagine what I could do with a handful of fellow conspirators.” He starts flipping through the key-ring. “I don’t need keys to spring free from this place, but where else am I going to find the very best of the criminally insane to collaborate with?” 

His eyes flick up. Scarecrow is still listening. 

“As a matter of fact, I was just about to introduce myself to someone who I believe shares a mutual, much hated acquaintance with you. He says that Detective Gordon is responsible for the death of his sister.” He finds what he’s looking for and slides the key into the lock. “James Gordon shot your dear old dad, didn’t he?”

Family connections aren’t really his thing. Haven’t been ever since the person he should have been closest to started spouting lies about cake-knives and fire-starting. But if Jerome could use the familial attachments of others to his advantage… 

The lock clicks as it disengages, and Jerome slides the door open.

“It seems like he’s got a lot of blood on his hands for such a self-righteous do-gooder. With such a personal, guilt-ridden history between you I expect that he might be the only cop willing to come up here to try and deal with this situation. I don’t have too much time, and I’d like to stay off the radar if I could during this delightful game you’re playing. Are you in, or out?”

Scarecrow steps through the doorway, and Jerome’s smile widens into something vicious. 

A jokester, a scarecrow, and a mad hatter join forces…

What happens next will shake Gotham to its core.


End file.
